


Together, We'll Find a Way

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Acceptance, Fighting, Gen, Grief, Nosebleed, coming to terms with change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 08:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: Vivian's first day practicing with Phil proves difficult for the latter, who finds himself unprepared to face and accept a new co-guitar relationship after the one he had with Steve. But is Vivian really a problem to Phil, or does he really just need for Vivian to sit down with him and show that he understands?





	Together, We'll Find a Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helena_s_renn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/gifts).



> Backing up from Rockfic; this one was written for Ficmas 2017 as a gift for helena_s_renn, who wanted the topic of acceptance portrayed with Phil and Vivian.

Joe Elliott yanked open two side doors on the hallway of the studio to some vacant offices. He shoved a swollen-eyed, bloody-nosed Vivian Campbell through one door, and a red-faced, seething with rage Phil Collen through the other.

To say their first day rehearsing old tunes with Vivian wasn't going over as well as it could have was an understatement. It was clear Phil wasn't adjusted to it yet, and it had dictated his attitude toward Vivian all day -which was less than pleasant, to not just Vivian, but all of them.

After the argument nearly turned madhouse brawl that had unfolded in the last five minutes, Joe was livid. A biting remark from Phil yelled in Vivian's face after a slip had pushed Vivian past his patience, and he'd reached out and shoved Phil back. Phil had sprung forward to deliver two strikes with his fists before Joe had pulled them apart with Sav's help as Rick shouted remarks to the effect of _"enough,"_ and _"both of you, lighten up already!"_

Joe wasn't going to have any more of it. Not one bit. He'd already had far more than enough.

_"You_ are going to go sit in this room, and YOU are going to go into _THIS_ room," he ordered, emphasizing his words as he shoved them into their respective rooms. "BOTH of you sodden idiots are going to calm the bloody hell down while you lick your wounds. And then both of you had best GET A GRIP on yourselves and let it go between each other. It is what it fucking IS!"

Vivian backed up, nearly staggering until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of a desk and he fell back to sit on it. As soon as he was down, he leaned forward pinching his nose with a tissue saturated with blood, and snaked his hand to the box behind him for more white sheets to staunch the crimson flow. With his other hand, he gingerly wiped below his right eye, which was swollen so his eyelid sagged shut, progressively darkening, and still weeping from the trauma of impact.

Sulking, Phil settled into a chair in his room, sitting up like a rocket poised for takeoff, his fists clenched at his sides.

Joe went after Vivian first in his room.

"I don't care what is said. It will stop from him, no doubt, but you'd best not act on it again physically. We haven't had a physical fight in this band in years, and I don't plan on it becoming a regular thing either. You retaliate that way again, and that'll get you gone, understood?"

Vivian nodded, shrinking back on the desk. His left eye widened with horror as if he feared he'd have it swollen shut too if he so much made one contradiction to Joe.

_"Good!"_

Joe closed Vivian's door, sparing him a door slam only because he was already injured. Phil, seeing Joe stepping aside to cross into his doorway, knew he wouldn't be so lucky, and it was only pissing him off further.

"So, you say-"

"Can it!" growled Joe. His voice dropped to a devastating level. "We all chose Vivian together, you included. If the rest of us still like him on guitar here, which I suspect we will when we sought him out, he stays. He cannot control why we had to get him in the first place, so take whatever twist you've gotten your panties into and GET OVER IT. You've been a bloody ass to him today, and that's ENOUGH. It's over! NOW!"

Phil knew he could have continued. Sure, Joe had a tendency to act tough and not back it up, but he still had a do-as-I-say-or-else attitude when he was angry or stressed out over a chaotic situation. If Phil tried him, Joe would keep nagging and driving him crazy until he was miserable, so despite not concluding to actually follow Joe's order, he did conclude to keep his big mouth shut and nodded to show he'd at least heard it.

"Get over it," Joe repeated sternly before slamming the door behind him.

Phil kicked at the corner of the throw rug and stayed where he was. Fair enough if he wasn't with Vivian in here.

Vivian winced next door, feeling the wall rattle a little with the adjacent room.

He was frustrated with Phil. It wasn't his fault that he wasn't Steve, or that he didn't sound like Steve, and it was anyone's debate as to who was a better player. Considering how different his playing background was from Steve's, Vivian didn't think it was even possible to make that comparison, but whether it was or not, he wasn't going to fight it, for or against himself.

He could have said quite a few snide things to Phil, with his sneering attitude about how he 'had to play everything just like Steve', and that 'if he thought he was so good, why hadn't he gotten it by now?' and such.

Thinking on it though, Vivian had to wonder if Phil actually meant it and was mocking him, or if Phil was just saying it that way because Vivian 'playing everything just like Steve' wasn't what he wanted, but what he thought he was trying to do.

And Vivian wasn't trying to. If Phil thought he was, and that was the problem, he wasn't so much trying to mock him just as he was scared.

_And a fat lotta help it's gonna do for you to act that way_ , Vivian scoffed inside. Annoyingly, he really did feel bad for Phil, but he saw little reason to extend his sympathy to somebody who couldn't even act civil to him in the same room. Why was it that he should waste his time being nice to somebody who had been nothing but obnoxious to him all day?

Then again, he was tired of the back and forth, and it hadn't even been a whole day. The week stretched out ahead was beginning to look long and miserable if it was to be anything like today all the way through.

With a sigh, and a glance to the clock, Vivian resolved to give Phil a couple more minutes. A couple more minutes which he would use to finish gathering his thoughts, wits, and patience held by sheer force of will, before seeing about trying to work things out.

In the other room, Phil had turned his chair around to look toward the back of the office, through the window behind the desk. He'd simply been lost inside himself, reminiscing on old times in the studio. As he did, he'd become less rigid until he now sat somewhat lethargically in the chair.

He was just starting to get the remaining bits of his anger under control, when he heard the door open behind him -first with the click of the latch, the turn of the doorknob, and a slight whimper from the hinge.

"What now, Joe?" he grumbled listlessly, feeling the annoyance spark again within him, yet with no energy left to carry it on.

"It's not Joe you're talking to," came a muffled, Irish accent.

Phil whipped his head around, cutting glare crossing his features again when he saw Vivian.

He was still nursing his bloody nose, cautiously letting go and wiping with a clean tissue to see whether the bleeding was fully stopped, or still on a slow drip.

"What do you want, Campbell?"

Vivian drew in a deep breath and sighed slowly.

"Phil, I know you don't want me here, but I'd just like to ask if we could talk?"

"Fine," declared Phil. "Let's talk. Right here."

Vivian crossed the room before cautiously sitting down on the edge of the desk as Phil swiveled his chair to face away from him.

"Well, go on then. You're the one who wants to talk," he muttered.

Finding words to begin with was harder than Vivian anticipated. After a few seconds, he forced out what naturally came to the tip of his tongue.

"Look, I suppose this is probably a wee bit hard for you-"

"-You really think so, mate?" Phil's voice was cold and corrosive as he turned to look over his shoulder and glare daggers at Vivian.

Vivian gulped.

"If you could just hear me out? Please?"

Phil turned back around, still glaring, but silently agreed.

"I'm waiting; go ahead," he said expectantly after a few seconds.

"Phil, I know this whole thing is incredibly difficult; don't think I don't realize that -and what I was trying to say is I would expect of everything tied into it, it's got to be at least a tad hard to see me here where you feel someone else should be."

Phil shrugged. "Something like that."

Despite his disinterested tone, it wasn't as sarcastic as before. Maybe, was he cracking the surface.

"And you're not wrong for that, because if everything in this world were right, someone else really _should_ be here," Vivian continued. "And I can't read whatever the hell it is in your head, I have a couple of guesses as to what could be going through it. I can imagine this is pretty scary -considering you're the newest not counting me, so even if this isn't the first big change, it's the first directly impacting you."

Phil swiveled his chair, not enough to face Vivian, but to be situated at a ninety degree angle from him. He looked like he was going to say something, but didn't, so Vivian continued.

"I just wanted to say it's scary for me too, alright? I'm excited and looking forward to where things might go once we get past this, if we can get past this, but it is scary. I get it. And by the way you've been saying things, I don't think it's that you're much different in that respect, but the fear and how weird it seems is..."

Vivian held up a finger, signaling Phil to wait, and paused to search for the right words to describe what Phil might have been feeling that wouldn't embarrass him. He wanted to touch Phil's inner conflict in a way that would encourage him to open up, not want to shut him out further.

"...I guess, even if you're getting past some of it, there still is a lot of pain -some that isn't ever going to go away -and this is just... exacerbating it, if you will. Or, I don't know; maybe you thought you were ready for today when all of you called me in today, and you're frustrated because you don't feel ready now because it makes it too real. Something like that, I would think."

Phil swallowed hard, finally looking up to meet Vivian's eyes -or the one that wasn't swollen which he could see through.

"You're right. But let me ask you something. Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is to look across the room expecting to see him there?"

"I can't say I know first hand, but I can easily believe it's not easy," said Vivian, giving as truthful an answer as he could. "But I didn't ask for it to be this way either. Of course I wish he was here too, even if it meant I weren't here." 

"And yet you stand in his place-"

"I'm not here to _replace_ him, Phil," Vivian insisted, looking away as it suddenly felt too uncomfortable and invasive, staring into Phil's eyes, which were rapidly watering up. "I don't _want_ to replace him, and I don't think I could even if I did want to. I can be a new guitarist who can work alongside you, but I'm not going to try to be like him. All I ask is we can respect each other -it would be nice if we could learn to like each other considering we're going to spend quite a bit of time together, but you don't have to like me. And I'm not expecting the same friendship you had with him either."

Phil made a face like he wanted to laugh in a sarcastic way, but was in too much pain to get it out, and too tired to even try forcing it.

"Well," he said weakly, "that's good, because I wouldn't be able to give you that if we both wanted it."

"I don't want it," Vivian insisted. "We could have our own friendship if we get past this, and find our way together, but it's not going to be like that. Whatever the two of you had, that was yours. And yours only, mate."

"I can't even try to explain to you the relationship we had. Our friendship was..."

Phil trailed off at that moment, face in hands.

Vivian looked about, trying to decide how to comfort Phil without getting him angry again. "You don't have to put it in words or explain it."

"It -our friendship -was ...very special to me," Phil choked, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand.

"I'm sure it was." Vivian approached the tissue box, trying to figure out which two fingers on either of his hands had a bloodless end which he could potentially attempt to pass a clean tissue to Phil. He gave up after a moment, simply picking up the box and making mental note to wipe off any bloody fingerprints later.

Phil took a couple without a word.

"I'm sure it was," Vivian repeated, "and I really am sorry it had to end the way that it did."

"Hell of a way for it to end, now," came a sardonic mutter as Phil dragged a folded tissue across his red rimmed eyes.

"You at least had a chance to experience it, right? You wouldn't have had it for the time you did if you hadn't made it into this band and had the chance to know him."

Phil gave the rough beginning of a laugh this time.

"That is true," he muttered. "Funny thing, when I first came in, Steve was a little reluctant to get to know me and was kind of giving me a cold edge -he was afraid I'd take over the guitar lines, and nobody would value his talent anymore-"

"Look at how far from true that ended up being." Vivian shook his head. "The rock and roll sector is still in shock, and it's never gonna be the same without him -ever. Of course I'm learning his parts for live purposes and such. But I'm not going to try and be like him, and in the future, if I am allowed to write with you all, you're likely to find my style is quite different. Unless you'd like for me to try and emulate his sound, but I don't think I'd do it justice, and I get the impression at least most of you would rather I not."

"No, I'd rather you not. It won't be the same either." Phil sighed and shook his head, pausing to sit entirely still for a moment before wiping his eyes again. "It really won't."

"I'm sorry, mate."

Phil looked up and looked Vivian over before meeting his eyes with his blank, exhausted stare. "I'm sorry too."

"For wha-?" Vivian looked confused for a second before looking down to the bloody tissues in his hand, and the one that had stayed clean, showing the bleed had finally stopped itself. "This? I've already kind of forgiven it anyway."

"I suppose if you want to cold-cock me one, you can." Phil mimed throwing a fist at his own face.

Vivian shook his head

"No. I couldn't. No."

"It would only be fair." Phil looked toward the rather impressive purple and black shiner, along with the red smear under Vivian's nose, staining his lips so that he almost looked like he'd had a drag makeup attempt gone awry.

Vivian shook his head again and snuffled against the clotted blood blocking his nose up on one side, trying to alleviate some of the feeling of running without snorting too hard and breaking the clot so it got going again. He was tired of the fighting and drama and was willing to drop it and have it stop now, even if it meant ending it with defeat on his end.

"It won't make it any better. It'll just get Joe riled up."

Phil rolled his eyes and waved his hand over.

"Aw, shit, Joe's all bark and no bite."

Vivian raised an eyebrow into a snide look. "Unlike you?"

"I guess I probably am the most dangerous of us, physically," Phil admitted. "Especially now that I'm getting into learning kickboxing."

Vivian shuddered. "I guess I'd best keep my distance onstage the first few nights so I don't rile you up into unleashing it on me. If this is what two fists throws could do, I don't want to know what your kicking can do."

"You probably don't. Though, I suppose I don't want to rile Joe up anymore either. What you saw was only his warning side. If you really get him going, you'll never hear the end of it all night."

"Yeah, I definitely don't want to know that. Anyway..." Vivian trailed off and sighed deeply.

"I suppose we have to go back in there and go back to figuring out how we're to do this together." Phil took the opportunity to move back to the problem they were inevitably going to have to settle.

"Would you rather I play it some way different instead of trying to match it exactly?" asked Vivian, going back to one of his conjectures on what had Phil so upset. "If that would help, I mean."

"It depends." Phill turned back to Vivian. "I wouldn't be opposed to it, but you tell me if it's going to fit our sound on the old material."

"Well, I'm probably not going to play like I did with Dio -it wouldn't be fitting here. But I'm not going to try to fully emulate Steve's style either, aside from where it's vital." Vivian paused and shrugged. "Truthfully, I won't sound like him when I do play his stuff, because I'll be playing it with my own technique that's different from his. Soloing especially. I could try to really figure out the technique he used, but it still wouldn't be the same-"

"Do it your way," Phil decided, ending Vivian's ramble. "I'd rather it be that way. It's too odd if it sounds like him and it's not."

"Then I can do that. And on new material?" asked Vivian. "What do you want me to do, and how are we going to work through things?"

Phil leaned back in his chair and looked up to the ceiling, scrubbing his hands over his face exhaustedly in thought.

"That's a good question. We're a band that writes together collectively, really," he admitted. "Our style is in a changing state right now. Not really something we have much choice on when we're changing too. I honestly don't know where the hell it's going. But we can't keep trying to make it sound the same after he's gone when he didn't even write it, because it just wouldn't feel right. Hell with it, it doesn't feel right even when he did write it and when I'm the one trying to do it, let alone you."

"My own style is up in the air too. I'm still trying to figure out what it truly is for me."

Vivian really wasn't sure what his actual style was. There had always been a certain level of influence in Dio to go for a highly technical, shredding structure, which worked for him, but wasn't the extend of what he could do, or what he wanted to do full time. Whitesnake's material had been an entirely different style, though not his own compositions, and he wasn't always the one given the task of playing it. From what he felt, Def Leppard had sides somewhat similar to both -a harder, metal driven side, a pop influenced side, and a wide spectrum of rock influence from a straight forward blues rock like AC/DC to something like Queen that was almost theatrical.

What better place to really figure out where he and his style floated in the intersection of all of those factors?

"I guess your style is going to be a big determining factor in where we go stylistically when we start writing again -Joe will have lyrics or something to put to what we write, or maybe he'll have a clip of a riff he comes up with to tell us to build around, and whatever you and I come up with, Sav would know how to make fit together. So whatever it really is, any writing in the near future is something I'd tell you to just go off of what comes to you -don't try to make it fit into anything, because we're going to change too. Write what feels natural."

"It's all I've ever wanted to be able to do, Phil."

"Well, I guess that's the easy part, then." Phil sighed and looked around. "The rest of it, I don't know. I guess we'll find the way to make it work."

"We'll find a way together," Vivian murmured quietly.

Just then, the door swung open quick and Joe's annoyed tone came through as he stood, hands on his hips, chest pushed out, eyebrows down in a way that reminded Vivian of a teacher that had caught a couple of kids roughhousing.

"Didn't I tell you two to stay in separate rooms?"

He stopped short as he saw Vivian and Phil sitting beside each other -Vivian on the desk and Phil in the chair -looking up innocently and confused as to why Joe had come in so flustered. They were turned toward each other, and with the way their hands were out on their laps in conversational gestures rather than folded across their chests, it looked like they had been talking with each other, perhaps working it out.

"Never mind," Joe huffed, turning to leave. "As long as you all are going to get over whatever twist you had your knickers in, I don't care, and if you have, then fucking thank goodness!"

Phil rolled his eyes and snorted.

"See what I mean when I say he'll carry on all day?"

Vivian shook his head, getting the conversation back in track. "I think most of them will be alright except "Hunter". I even feel weird playing that one because it just seemed to belong to him. If we decide it doesn't sound right, we can cut it and pick something else to replace it with on the tour."

"Fair point," Phil agreed.

"Without trying to get his tone on my guitar, can we maybe try practicing something from the set that had something substantial from him? How about Foolin'?" asked Vivian. "I'll set my amp to the tone I would keep it to instead, and I'll articulate the power chords the way that feels natural for me instead of trying to mimic the original, and we can make any tweaks needed to make it fit together with the differences."

"Sounds as good a place to start as any." Phil rose from his chair, waiting for Vivian to discard his blood-stained tissues before leaving the room. Slowly, they made their way down the hall, Vivian just a couple of paces behind Phil. Phil stopped beside the door to the men's room on the hallway to allow Vivian a chance to wash his hands and check his black eye -which was going to be a sight to behold for a few days, but nothing that time wouldn't repair.

Finally, they were back in the small room of the studio with each other, guitars plugged in, amps and effects adjusted as planned, and making their way through the first progression of Foolin'.

This time, the guitar sounded different. Different, but not bad. There wasn't a shock of pain and grief when Phil looked over to see the figure with a mass of dark curls over the guitar rather than the one with blond hair pale as lightening with the guitar hanging too low. It was strange to see him there, but not wrong.

For the first time since Steve's death, Phil truly felt that things might just be alright.


End file.
